


night fever

by kunmama



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Friendship, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 17:05:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15890331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kunmama/pseuds/kunmama
Summary: in the shadow of his single bedroom, the neon LED reads a stark 2:45AM, light projecting onto jungwoo's shivering hands. jungwoo hasn't felt his head pound this intensely since the flight back from the ukraine. his head beats like an infant's heart, body shaking, eyes dry. normally he'd get up, pop some ibuprofen and stare at his reflection in the dorm window overlooking  seoul cityscape, maybe turn on a rerun of PEANUTS for good measure. but tonight, he battles his ailment with precaution.





	night fever

**Author's Note:**

> dowoo hasn't been alive since osaka so i'm writing this in the hopes that doyoung unlocks jungwoo from his holding cell and i finally get the sm station i've been waiting for for YEARS!!!!!!!!  
> -  
> (also my first fic, tried to edit it so it doesn't come out as my [EXTREME FLOW OF CONSCIOUSNESS] ha ... ha...)
> 
> enjoy :0

“jesus christ.... fuck....”

jungwoo checks the analog clock in the dark. the neon shines 2:45AM into the empty expanse of pitch black. he furrows his brows and stares into the moonlit ceiling. his body is on fire.

“ff-uck. ....... so.... hhhng”

_what the hell?_

with the exception of nct dream's occasional infiltration of their kitchen on kun’s cooking nights, the dorms are usually quiet in the early hours of the morning. especially on a weekend. moreover, they _should_ be when only two of them are here anyway. jungwoo’s shirt is damp and clings to his skin, bangs wet against his forehead.

leave jungwoo expecting a peaceful night to himself, and what does he get? exactly not that.

tonight, the dorm is a hollow architecture in which each and every sound has been amplified a thousandfold. its almost 3am on a sunday and jungwoo feels his eardrums convulsing, sensitive to each tick and shift that travels through the dark. his head throbs, coupled with the incessant shake of his limbs. he feels a fever coming on.

the members are in selective locations for their designated units, 127 in a dorm just above kunwoocas' small apartment, the dreamies and ten stuffed in the dorm connected to the right of their own. kun and lucas, however, are filming overseas in preparation for upcoming promotions. jungwoo is left to his own devices for tonight. there's only so much time he can stand being alone though,

“...fuck me ..baby. h-yo—you...”

so he invites his favorite hyung over and they eat kimbap and talk for hours into the daybreak. music, dramas, life before debut, shared interests, family, they even cook dinner together (jungwoo sits out for that one), and they bond. they've rarely gotten to see eachother since nct u promotions ended. it feels familiar, it feels nice.

come bedtime, they separate into different rooms and jungwoo falls asleep with happy feelings, happy thoughts.

right now, jungwoo can’t even form coherent thoughts. all that surrounds him is the moaning from behind his dresser wall. it grows louder, falters, builds back up slowly, and repeats. if jungwoo wasn't bound to his bed due to his newfound sickness, he'd probably just stick his headphones in, sneak to lucas' room, and fall into a nyquil induced sleep. but his sensitivity to the sound pulls him in further, it taunts him, laughs at him as he lays frozen, eyes glued to the ceiling. his head spins. a part of him wants to thrash himself in his sheets until he passes out. he doesn't want to think about the things he's not supposed to be hearing. that's his hyung. his figurative older brother. his bandmate.

but another part of him wants to plant himself for the show, become the silent audience. the curiosity kills him. the secrecy ignites the suppressed arousal within him.

squelching of skin and moisture obscenely fill the dorm. jungwoo wills himself to sit up, barely catching the filthy words the man is repeating to himself. the voice is slowly climbing out of a whisper, a soft, honey-like voice, oozing, suffocating jungwoo's senses as his heart beats in time with his throbbing temple.

jungwoo checks the clock. 2:50AM.

what lies behind the dimly illuminated wall is his band member, a friend, a confidant, and an enigma. what lies behind that wall is a writhing, needy, kim doyoung, occupying the empty room which once belonged to kun. jungwoo winces.

 _the one night he's here, he decides to jack off?_ jungwoo scoffs inwardly, slightly offended.

 _maybe he forgot i'm a light sleeper_ , jungwoo ponders.

to lend legitimacy that doyoung's antics are anything short of an embarrassing accident would be dangerous, he remembers.

 _doyoung hyung has no underlying intentions,_ he fights.

he's here for one night, he's releasing stress. men do that. maybe he didn’t have space to himself at the other dorm. _right?_ jungwoo exhales.

earlier that day, doyoung had insisted on coming over, as he himself had grown sick of the seoul members, grown sick of slaving away at OST requests, and overall needed a break to clear his mind. jungwoo sort of wishes he'd declined the offer. his discomfort and interest intertwine themself. what exactly lies behind that wall? only a few hours ago had they been laughing over old gags they had practiced during their trainee days. jungwoo doesn’t want to think about a shift in their relationship. they’re friends.

but he can’t stop himself. he imagines it all, doyoungs slender body curled over itself, palming his member in his pajama bottoms. he feels every rise and breath in doyoungs action, hears the creak of each wooden fiber in the bed frame, imagines the smell of sweat and cum as doyoung grows hot and desperate with each tug of skin and exchange of breath. he remembers and revives the calculated, piercing look doyoung has when he’s most frustrated. he shouldn't be thinking these things. he shouldn't be imagining it. a rush of endorphins shoots up his aching back.

is doyoung naked? is his body fully exposed, _as if waiting for jungwoo to claim it_? or is he desperately fisted over himself in tight clothing, exhausted and hungry for any source of release?

does the moonlight shine into his room like it does in jungwoo's? does it catch the furrow in his brow and the fan of his hair on the pillow? does the mix of spit and cum on his long fingers glisten in the blue, or does the dark swallow up his figure, only leaving this much to the imagination?

 _fuck._ he really shouldn't be thinking this.

jungwoo has never been a voyeur, nor a pervert. never has he intruded on another person's space for the fulfillment of his own needs. he doesn't want to like the feeling now. he also doesn’t go out of his way to fight it. it takes his mind off of his clammy palms and aching bones, so naturally, he follows it further.

he contemplates a scenario, sitting up fully and leaning his head idly on his bedpost. using all his remaining willpower, he pulls his legs closer to his chest, spreading them a bit.

its doyoung touching him all over, breathing into the crook of his neck in the dark, hurriedly pushing off his clothes. its the fantasy of bathroom close encounters, being spread open across a practice room mirror, the hurried motions in a dark hallway, trying to keep quiet surrounded by 11 other members sound asleep. doyoungs moans turn to whimpers as jungwoo rests his hands on his knees. its his long fingers sinking deep into his mouth and throat, sinking deep into other places. its the spread of his broad shoulders above him, pinning him into submission, the piercing of sharp, beautiful eyes into his soul, the raw feeling of want. wanting to pull his body so close skin binds, rock into him so hard it leaves bruises. its the feeling of being absolutely filled to the brim, the full submission to a guilty conscience, the violent release of a years long worth of sexual frustration.

the blush on his face spreads to his neck. _what am i doing?_

jungwoo believes in the power of friendship and platonic love, is truly thankful for the guidance and kindness doyoung has showed him in the past few months. he respects doyoung, loves him, wishes only good things for him. without doyoung, jungwoo only imagines being eternally sheltered off from the rest of the group. doyoung has done so much for him.

doyoung however, doesnt fall short of fantasy. in deep, dark, shameful fantasies where jungwoo suppresses his sexuality, his outward nature of purity and cuteness only an infinitesimal soundbite of who he truly is. his fever isn’t helping his rationale much either.

ever since the age of 18, he remembers it all, all male technical high school, being subjected to the horrors of class ranked grades and all nighters with no distractions, being pushed into a heteronormative society that marketed women like commodity. it makes him reminisce, this same situation occurring too often, waking up in the middle of the night to hurriedly stuff his hands over his shorts with a flushed face, biting his wrist, careful not to wake anyone.

he thinks of himself as doyoung now, curled against the headboard with one slender hand wrapped around himself. he cant imagine it all but paints it out, again, pink curve, slender and veiny, long, twitchy and sticky.

jungwoo opens his palm over his thigh and quietly lifts himself to drag his pajama bottoms and boxers down. what springs against his stomach is his own curved flesh, thick and pale, wet and rigid. the cool air is a relief. he stares at it and then at the clock anxiously. his wet head glistens in the slivers of moonlight that shine through his blinds. doyoungs sounds have subsided to huffs of air and labored breaths as the clock nears 3AM.

jungwoo runs a hand through his fringe and tilts his gaze to the left, adjusts himself and unabashedly opens his legs for better access. as his hand travels down his stomach, he hesitates.

_is it wrong?_

_is it wrong to masturbate to the sex noises of your friends? is it wrong to fantasize about your friends?_

_._

_what would hyung think if he saw me now?_

his heart palpitates. his hand slides down further on its own.

_am i really doing this?_

desire trumps morality in the end.

jungwoos hand is soft against his hard erection and he bites his other thumbnail in restraint. his hips buck up into the long awaited touch. the precome is warm and slippery, he gathers the pool from his tip and drags it gently down his shaft. he falters when the slapping of skin resumes.

doyoung is probably fingering himself, he thinks. 4, maybe? jungwoo thinks about doyoung, spreading himself open. maybe doyoung could lie down, ass up, whining for jungwoo to fuck him into the bed. long, slender body splayed for jungwoo’s ownership. jungwoo is so fucked.

jungwoo begins, slowly stroking his sensitivity to its full weight. he hears doyoung moan into his pillow this time, his grainy voice muffled by the cloth. jungwoo huffs in slight embarrassment and frustration as the moon seems to watch him from the sky outside. he doesn't believe in the chances that he'd wake up to a situation like this. he can’t even remember a time where he touched himself so languidly and shamelessly. he furrows his brows in ecstasy, breathing into his sheets. hes slid down into a full sprawl. one hand on his cock, another palming the mattress beneath his twitching body.

his speed picks up, and the fire of his arousal builds with the fire of his aching limbs. he can feel it coming closer.

_doyoungs lips on his, tongue in his mouth, his hands all over his body._

his head and crown ache. his sac and cock pulse in anticipation for release. doyoung has come at least twice by now, riding the bed much harder.

_doyoungs cock in his ass. jungwoo, riding him, bouncing, pressed against a wall. doyoung whispering sweet nothings in his ear as his cum fills his walls and drips down his thighs lewdly._

a cloud passes over the moon as jungwoo reaches his climax. he bites into his index finger with fervor, making sure to stay quiet as possible. white ropes of come spurt onto jungwoos stomach and hands, and he strokes himself into hypersensitivity, hips twitching into over stimulation and slight pain.

he surrenders and his body slowly calms, breath shaking. he hasn’t come so hard in his life.

seconds later, he hears doyoung come a fourth and final time, this climax his loudest.

“....oh.. oh..”

“jungwoo——ah—“

jungwoo freezes.

**Author's Note:**

> you made it to the end! thanks
> 
> i'm thinking of writing a sequel since these days we have been so dowoo deprived *tumbleweed rolls across desert* but yeah


End file.
